The First Inquisition
The Lord Sanguine had a fetish for fair haired women. Nothing sexual, merely an appreciation. That they were fair haired women who were dressed in scraps and straps an let loose into a subterrane to scrounge for their living until such time as their masters came to live upon them was immaterial, they claimed. A remnant of a past life where such a thing was the base of his sexuality, considering the penchant for his people to birth sons and daughter of darkness with appropriately colored locks and eyes. That and his ability to actually have intercourse, I often added to myself after their explanation. I was half convinced they could hear the thought drifting out of my head. Maybe it was my lack of a straight face. It's hard to look ethereal and scornful when you're not used to elongated eye teeth. * * * I slammed my hands down on the table. “You want me to do what to whom?” Jasper looked up from the pile of musket rounds on the table before them. They hung lazily just off the tabletop, several of them etched with the Eye. One spun slowly before his eyes, sparks jumping off as he etched the mark across it, sanctifying it. “Your first inquisition. You will infiltrate the coven of the Lord Sanguine and remove him from play.” “You say coven.” I leaned back into my chair, a clumsy thing I had drawn up from my limited grasp of Essence. Jasper reclined in something plump and comfortable that he had blinked into as he sat. It had taken me an hour to draw the stiff wooden back that dug into my spine now. I held up my hands and closed the fists, leaving the pointers extended and moved them to my mouth, pointing down past my chin. “You mean -” “Vampires, yes.” He looked annoyed. I snorted and let my hands drop into my lap. That was nothing new. “All by myself.” I cupped the pommel of my saber in my palm, absently trying to twirl a strand of Essence around my fingers and receiving only a thin red glow for my efforts. “With my infinitely trained mind. I'm good, Jasper, don't get me wrong. But your way of making the Emperor's will known is years different from my way of making war.” I rapped the pommel. “Steel and vigor. Not farfetched constructs and half-grasped metaphors of rivers and tides of the Red.” Since my apprenticeship began I had been unable to successfully tap into the Essence. A block kept all but it's most basic and laborious efforts from me. I could create a seat from nothing, and that was no small thing. But Jasper, and the rest of the Eye, could do that in their sleep. Many did, in truth. The back rooms were filled with dreams made material. The musket round dropped onto the table and rolled into a neat pyramid with the others he had completed. He steepled his fingers and focused on me. Unusual. “The Eternal Eye does not make war, Mithras. We watch. We Know. And we remove the agents of the Dull with expediency and subtlety.” I sighed. “Alright. So how are we going to get around that whole lack of,” I left off as I raised my fists and fingers to my lips again. “Hold still.” * * * They still hurt. Rather than just craft a simluacra of fangs, he'd actually pulled my teeth out to an appropriate length. Bastard. The coven had set up shop in an abandoned cathedral. A poor choice, in my opinion. Their hated enemy rose every day through the enormous stained glass oculus that graced the orbit of the nave. The scene depicted was a familiar one to me, from something I had experienced in my travels. An enormous bird of prey, two heads intertwined with each other on sinuous necks, clutching something silver and steel in its talons. When the sun rose it burned through the hall like a beacon of silver and gold. Its meaning escaped me though. I shook it off and forced myself to admire the slave flesh on display. The coven had gone to incredible lengths to secure a small host of beauties for the Lord Sanguine's arrival. He had vanished the day of my infiltration on a journey of some kind and today was the scheduled date of his return. Slender women garbed in what could loosely be described as clothing tread with the gait of the half-asleep, their eyes glass. Many bled freely from the neck, wrist, and thigh, victims of the hungers of the monsters that dwelt here. The most beautiful were untouched, their existence an unending age of fear and apprehension as they were kept unaware of their favored roles in the Lord Sanguine's return. The rest of the coven that I has approached had explained it as some kind of hunting trip. They knew not for prey or artefacts. The moon was full tonight, all three of them. A dull light blanketed the cathedral. I quietly laughed at myself and made a note to include it in my first sermon following this – hopefully – successful task. A delicious irony that I hoped the congregation would appreciate. The coven was always quiet. The orgiastic deeds they covered themselves in were always hushed, a background hum of flesh splitting and the quiet drip of fluids striking the floor. I had managed to beg off joining until now by claiming a torpor, a desire to simply be left alone, that I would feed in due time. Everything went dead still as the doors at the far end swung open, their desecrated saints and figures depicted in once gleaming plate and mail heralding the entrance of the Lord Sanguine. He was dressed dramatically, a red train that spilled from his shoulders being held aloft by the stream of servants that followed no closer than ten paces as I estimated it. Wheeled cages followed, teeming with more pale beauties. Behind that hovering sleds of gold and artworks peeking out from under sable drapes were pulled by yet more slaves. Prey and plunder, apparently. Busy man. The coven lined up. I was startled to see there were far more than I had realized. They came streaming from the dark corners, the alcoves, even the rafters above. I had just assumed the pattering of vermillion was an excess of taste and décor, not an active occurrence. I took the end of the line as the hierarchy seemed to exert itself. Those dressed the finest and the longest of fang knelt first and kissed the gaudy ring that graced one of the Lord Sanguine's fingers. * * * “Damn it, Jasper!” I peered into the mirror, pulling my lips up and aside to see the gum. Closing my mouth was difficult and speech was agony as the fangs cut my lip with each word. I turned around, Essence at my fingertips unbidden and weak. “Boothe keep you if this isn't merely cosmetic.” He looked disgusted. Not annoyed, not irked. This was legitimate emotion that I hadn't suspected he had the capability to express. “Yes, Mithras, I turned you into a vampire. A member of the Eternal Eye just transformed his ward into one of the facets of the archenemy.” He threw me a towel. “Wipe off and shut up.” I dabbed at my torn lip as he continued. “You won't pass for a moment with at least this aspect of your appearance unaltered. You're already fairly pale and part of this parcel is the masking of your heartbeat and the scent of beating blood. “You're going to have to do something you won't like. Things that may smack of heresy. You will perform to the best of your abilities whilst keeping the true matter in mind. The Dull find no purchase in an unwilling and bright vessel. “Now what is your task?” I tossed the towel aside, not at all pleased. “The neutralization of the Lord Sanguine.” “By what methods?” “By the procedures established by the Order of the Eternal Eye.” “Good. Leave your blade.” I whipped my head up. “What.” “Leave it. That weapon is becoming known to our foes. Your exuberance in the Pheta affair was noticed by many, many who could have fallen. Leave it.” I winced at the name of the case in mention. A simple observance Jasper had been forced to turn into an execution due to my ineptitude and eagerness to engage. How was I supposed to know she was only a harlot claiming to be a pirate? Her words were salty enough. And that swill they called mead was piss. “Mithras.” Another genuine expression of emotion. Was that compassion? Or exasperation? Hell, I had no idea. “Trust in the Emperor. He Knows the troubles you will face. If the need should arise, look to him.” He held out his hand over the table. I took it, surprised. “Keep up the Fight.” * * * It was nearly my turn. The Lord Sanguine's eyes were rarely still, darting like a predator's in the midst of the kill. The man in front of me knelt and I saw now that they were not merely kissing the ring. They were drinking from it. The scent of blood was heavy around the Lord Sanguine, though that was likely the norm as well. The filth stood ad moved away. The Lord Sanguine locked eyes with me. “New blood,” he whispered in a guttural voice. I could smell desert spices and sands even as the coven laughed appreciatively of the jest. “Your Sire?” Thank Boothe I had rehearsed this at least. “A woman of no notable lineage, lord. We were taken by hunters in our travels and I barely escaped. I came here, not knowing this assembly. The coven has been kind to me.” He looked bemused. “Kind?” “Well, I'm not an ashen pile. I define that as kindness amongst the blood.” And thank Tobias Jasper kept a small library of records of the foes we face. “You have no qualms at being at a stranger's beck and call?” “In exchange for the safety this place offers? None, lord.” He stared at me. His eyes were pinned gold on black. I drew back in on myself, letting my features keep the sneer that all the coven seemed to wear. I kept it so there could be one physical barrier between me and the horrors of this place. One tiny act of defiance in the face of the enemy. Also so I could keep from cutting my lips as I spoke. “Drink, then. Your name?” Damn it. The part I was dreading. “Mithras, lord.” I knelt and pressed my new teeth to the ring. It broke easily, like the crust of a pie or turnover. Warm metal spilled over my tongue and I forced myself to drink. The copper flooded my throat and my gorge was ascendant. I withdrew and wiped my mouth across the back o my hand, forcing my expression into one of exultation. The Lord Sanguine nodded and moved past. I was in. Well, pretty sure, anyway. The feast was as despicable as I had imagined. Many of the coven loosed their prey to the night skies outside, preferring to take them to ground rather than be waited on. I made myself toy with them as they passed, claiming to my neighbors that I was merely “setting the flavor for the meal”. In truth I was so sick I could barely keep my head up. The blood, which I suspected was the Lord Sanguine's, sat heavy in my stomach. Throughout it all, I swore the Lord Sanguine was watching, judging the merit of his new vassal. I think that was the worst part of it. The knowledge I was under inspection, being targeted, by one of the servants of the Dull ad being unable to act against it. I think that was when I started to understand Jasper a little better. “Mithras.” I looked up into gold split pools of ink. The Lord Sanguine stood with a slender beauty in his grip. She struggled, pulling frantically at a grip that would have been white were it not already completely bloodless. “It is not a widely respected custom anymore, but there was a time where every new member of the blood of a coven was given a token by their liege.” He flexed his wrist and the woman flew forward into my lap. “The center of the display my get has gathered for me. Drink.” The coven rattled amongst themselves, shocked by the apparent generosity and honor I was being shown. I forced a hand to stroke one of the woman's cheeks, masking the tremble by running it over her jawline and down out of the Lord Sanguine's line of sight. I nodded my 'thanks' to the bastard and forced her to crane her neck to the side, baring my false fangs. I lowered my head, brushing dry lips against her neck. Even with my mortal senses I could hear the hammering of her pulse and see the throbbing of the artery. I pushed further and clamped my mouth down. * * * It was on one of the rests Jasper took every day or so to relieve himself of the strain of channeling our path through the Red. These were the only times he spoke to me in the beginning and they were clearly lessons intended for the ignorant. “Essence is the power the Emperor bequeaths his Inquisitors upon the completion of their pilgrimage. While we can wield it to great effect still very few of the Eye understand what it is.” He sat slumped, immaculate now as he was on that obsidian shelf. “I believe it comes from the Red, or rather, is a part of the Red we gain access to upon our bond with the Five.” I sat across from him, saber across my lap. I absently drew my finger over the edge, testing it or wear and tear following the battle of my initiation. “What is the Red, then?” He shook his head again. “We don't know much. All we know for certain is that it is the foundation of the Emperor's power, and we are granted but a measured serving of it. And even that is conjecture.” I frowned. “How is it wielded? Are there words to speak, rhymes to declaim, gestures to be made -” He raised a hand. “Essence cannot be evoked with simple methods. The Inquisitor must feel it, channel it. Be it, though the term loses something. Think to your initiation. Where did the vigor that sustained your prideful adherence to your weapon come from? I saw your thread frayed, nearly cut.” I leaned back, something providing support. I tried not to look around where we were too often. It was easier to focus on Jasper than the suffusion of...malarky that surrounded us in our travels. “I don't know. I thought it was blood thirst. Battle rage. Something.” “It was Essence making itself known to you. And if that was what it felt like to an untrained novice, imagine what we can do with it properly armed.” I leaned forward again, eager. “Are you going to teach me to harness it?” “No.” I gaped at him. “You'll teach yourself in time. Every Inquisitor expresses his bond with his lord in their own way. Yours will come to you, in its own way. “It's more than a technique. More than the pyrokine, the telekine, the mind reader an soothsayer and anything else you can think to compare it to. It is the act of creation. And as creators, the way we express it...” “Is ours,” I absently finished. “And creators we shall be.” “Quite.” “I don't get it. Can't you show me a mantra or something to, I don't know, focus my thoughts or something?” Jasper sighed and pushed his glasses up. “Hold tight.” And like that we were going again. * * * “Well? Does her taste meet your standards? I find her breed often leaves a tang across the pallet.” I rose and lowered the woman back into the low seat I had been reclining in. I turned and faced down the Lord Sanguine, eye to eye. I hadn't noticed before, but I was taller then him by a fair measure. Excellent. I think he may have been confused. There was no trace of crimson over my lips an I was breathing heavily. I think the latter was what threw him for a loop the hardest. I never found out. I pushed and the scum was flying, cracking pews in his passage and spilling their depraved occupants to the ground. The slaves still possessed of the mind for it screamed and ran for the doors. I opened them with a minor effort from the nave. A trio of the coven leaped at me, fangs bared and fingers grown into psoriatic talons. Long lengths of shattered pew leaped into their paths as I pulled. I grinned my shit-eating grin. I bellowed to the cathedral, reveling in the absence of pain from my lips. “Come and take me you fethers!” The three were barely touching the ground as ash before the rest of the coven was flying, in some cases literally, across the cathedral. The Lord Sanguine was at their heels, wrenching his limbs back into place from his shattering flight, exhorting them on. The first of them, the shortest of fang, leaped in an attempt to collapse me under numbers. At least I think that was their plan. They landed upon a dome of force I flexed over me, their bodies pierced in new ways by the lances I rained out of the shield. The longer fangs came on more cautiously, some pulling weapons or enacting abilities of their own. They shattered on the bulwarks I wrought, torn apart with spiked and bladed crenelations. Heads rolled and bodies dusted as three of them broke through. One of them, a woman, came on with a blade rolling in her two-handed grip. One, a man, lashed out with a braided length of bone and sinew, undoubtedly human. The other, also a man, fell back, canting unwords in dead tongues. The woman pressed hard, lashing out in tight circular slashes, working her wrists and elbows to keep the blade in tight while still bringing its long weight to bear. I let her have her show; I'd watched her tear the throat of a young maid open with her nails alone the night before last and not even feed, just to bathe in her blood. The longsword looped again and dove at my throat. I focused and the blade slammed to a halt. I could have hidden it away, broken it, or simply disarmed her. Instead I let it hang in the air, immobilized in a mass of aetheric lead as I slammed a sloppy punch into her neck, shattering it. I needed to remedy that sloppiness now that I had the means to visit any master I wished, wherever and whenever. The whip had just now reached us. I called the blade to my hand with a simple tug and it flew, orbiting me, spinning and shredding the macabre weapon. The lengths that flew away I whispered to and they hovered a moment before the red of the dried sinew oxygenated itself once more and the bone shaped itself into twin prongs. I willed it and the arsenal of forks flew back the way they had come, staking the creature through the eyes, throat, breast and limbs. He flew back, already dissolving as the last of them hurried to finish his incantation. Sorcery filled the air. I immediately felt the difference between his black arts and the pure Essence that flowed through me. He was a void of it, filled in its place with equal measures of boredom, gluttony, and fear. I filled his empty vessel and turned my gaze to the Lord Sanguine's fleeing back even as the last of his coven burned a screaming death. I moved after him, each step covering dozens of strides. He was already a half mile out of the cathedral when I exited the building. Five steps carried me into his path. He slid to a halt, whipping the train of his cloak around, cunning edges wrought into the fabric by technology unknown or sciomancy, I didn't know. I held the edge of my hand up and the cloth cut itself against it. The newly hemmed length flew out behind me, twisting in the wind before piling serpentine on the ground. Before it had touched the first blade of dead grass I had suspended him, pierced his limbs, and put the spear of my hand through his heart. I looked up at him, my arm still buried in his chest to the middle of the forearm. “You do have a heart.” I squeezed and he squealed. “Lord Sanguine -” I paused and thought. “Or rather, Dominic Osseus,” his eyes widened to saucers at the mention of his cast-off birth name, “the Order of the Eternal Eye finds you guilty of the First, Fourth, and Fifth Heresies. In the name of the Emperor I proclaim thee a Dullard and condemn thee to oblivion. Speak your last words that they might venerate you in the life beyond.” He gasped as I squeezed. “Whoops. Terrible last words, those.” I squeezed. * * * Jasper sat back in his chair and rested his arms on the unforgiving iron that it was crafted from. He waved a hand and the scribe creation disappeared. “You willfully and knowingly violated protocol in openly moving against the entirety of the coven. You mission was the single elimination of the Lord Sanguine -” “Osseus,” I idly corrected him, leaning back myself. The down stuffed back felt wonderful. “His name was Osseus.” Jasper charged on ahead. “In doing so you needlessly risked the life of an Inquisitor of the Eternal Eye, even a sore and untried whelp such as yourself.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just, why. Tell me why.” I shrugged. “Felt like the thing to do.” “The Order operates on a level of subtlety that many consider sacrosanct. This inquisition will be viewed by many as a near act of heresy.” I sat forward now, resting my hands against the newly cold mirror of Jasper's own iron chair. “I told you, Jasper. The way the Eye makes war is not my way.” “We do not make war! That is the entire point!” “Precisely!” I snapped, feeling my scars lighten and my eyes burn as I unconsciously tapped our power. “This was no investigation. It was a prolonged execution. Subtlety and secrecy are best practiced when we are unsure of our accusation. I Knew that Osseus was a creature of the Dull. You Knew it too. So I took action.” I leaned back, the fire turning to embers. “I am an unsubtle instrument, mentor. You knew this. And He Knew it too.” Jasper opened his mouth, and I could picture the cannonade his tirade would take the form of. He paused and shook his head, though. He replaced his glasses and slid them the length of his nose. I frowned. Had he just smiled? “How did it feel?” I twitched my head to the side, confused. He tapped his temple where our similar brands were displayed. “Ah,” I smiled. “I wish I had the words to describe it. I think the most I can say is you were right. It had to be learned, not taught.” He nodded and stood. “I think there may be a change called for within the Order. Many of us will refuse an instead adhere to the old ways. But stagnation is a sign of the Dull and I will not have any presence of the Heresies in my order.” I nodded back and turned to go. I knew that was as far as we has willing to concede. Jasper was a hard man by necessity. That much was clear to me after the events of the inquisition. “Mithras.” I looked back over my shoulder as I belted my blade back on around my hips, glad of its familiar weight. “Well done.” Category:Fiction